


it's perfectly strange (you run in my veins)

by DefinitionOfAWriter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (at least discontinued for now), Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Octavia is a wingwoman without realizing it, Slow Burn, a little bit? i guess? idk y'all there's a lot of tension, clexa is cute af, competitive coffee shops what more do you want, sexual mentions because people have dirty mouths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefinitionOfAWriter/pseuds/DefinitionOfAWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “This is good,” she said, but Octavia didn’t look reassured. Her voice spoke of murder. “If you’re going to be there, you might as well make yourself useful. You’ll be my double agent. Rate the drinks, get to know the workers, find their weaknesses.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Octavia’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re talking about this like it’s a battle, Clarke. It’s only a coffee shop. You’ve still got the best food.”</i></p><p>  <i>“But I did have the best coffee. This isn’t a battle. This is war.” </i></p><p>- - -</p><p>Clarke Griffin runs a cafe known for its coffee... until Lexa Woods opens a coffee shop right across the street. Fun ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the start of an age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for this.

**Day 1**

It was Octavia who brought her the news first, draped over the counter a half an hour before opening with a Cheshire grin on her face.

“You know that building across the street? The one someone bought out a few months ago?” She didn’t look up at the question, but she nodded. “The construction is done. You’ll never guess what sign they put up last night.” Octavia paused, clearly waiting for a response, but Clarke wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Rather than pressing for a guess, this made her smirk today. That should’ve been the first warning.

“Coffee Grinders.”

She dropped the muffin in her hand, and it rolled to the front of the display section as she made her way to the front door. A brisk wind tore at her hair when she stepped into the cool winter air, but she ignored it, choosing instead to stare down the building directly across the road.

 _Coffee Grinders._ The storefront was a far cry from the modern, minimalistic style of Clarke’s restaurant, instead reaching for a more traditional, homey look. If she squinted enough, she thought she could see shades of brown and green and orange inside. From the sign hung a banner that said in neat script: _Premiering November 2nd._

“What idiot opens a coffee shop right across from a cafe famous for its coffee and announces it a week before its opening?” she scoffed, and turned to go back inside. She would not give the owner the satisfaction of going up and peering through the windows.

Octavia followed along, and she stole the muffin that had rolled down to the front, unwrapping it as she watched Clarke go back to work. “I don’t know. I think it looks nice,” she teased.

“It’ll be gone within a few months,” she said brusquely, and she was fairly confident in that statement. This was a smaller city, and her family had been here for generations. Everyone knew the Griffins, and it was primarily why the cafe had been so successful. Her father had been in the government, and her mother was the best surgeon in town. This new person had no connections in town, or else Clarke would’ve heard about it.

“Do you want me to keep an eye out for you?” the brunette asked, all smiles in light of new gossip. “I can send in Monty and Jasper on opening night, get some intel-”

A quick shake of her head made the words die on her lips. “Don’t bother. Whoever they are, they aren’t worth the trouble.”

She should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

 

**Day 8**

It was 1 pm and there was a line outside, but it wasn’t for her store.

“What the hell is going on?” Clarke hissed into the phone, peering around to see if anyone was paying attention. The restaurant was emptier than normal, only the regulars and one stranger dining. It was food _rush hour_ , and her tables weren’t even halfway full.

Raven laughed under her breath. “I haven’t heard you get this worked up since Murphy threatened to set fire to that inspirational quote on the wall-” Clarke’s high pitched groan cut her off. “Alright, fine, sorry. I don’t know. I’m still waiting for my coffee, the place is packed. Apparently the opening went well yesterday? I don’t know, Octavia’s been sorta quiet about it, which might be the one and only time that’s ever happened. The inside is gorgeous, though. Looks like the store grew out of a forest, but more… clean. Hold up, my order is ready.” Muffled sounds, a scraping of a chair, and then silence.

“Raven?”

A strangled noise. Silence again. Then- “Well, shit.”

“Reyes, I swear if you don’t start talking in two seconds I will publicize every single text you sent me on the night of your 21st birthday and it will _not be pretty_.” Someone choked out a laugh behind her, probably Murphy, and she withheld the urge to shoot him a bird. That wouldn’t help with dropping customer rates.

“Clarke, babe, I think I just went to coffee heaven. Their Caramel Macchiato… I need to meet this owner and shake their hand. Possibly take them to bed, too.” Now there was laughing on the other end of the phone, female but unfamiliar. “Hey, fuck you, miss. You know you’re obsessed with your drink too.”

There was a response, but it was muffled and she couldn’t pick out any words. A pause. Raven’s voice reappeared, and it was directed at her this time. “Sorry, babe. I’ve got a drink to share with a pretty lady. I’ll see you later.”

Dial tone.

Clarke’s jaw dropped. “How come she always beds the hot ones?” she whined. Murphy laughed again, and she had no hesitation in flipping him off this time.

She needed to find Octavia.

 

**Day 11**

She got Bellamy to switch shifts that day just so she could be at Octavia’s home when she was off work. It was almost amusing to watch her relaxed routine around the kitchen careen into a startled guilt. “Good morning, Octavia. It’s been a few days.”

“Hey, Clarke.” She laughed nervously and went back to washing the dishes, but she moved quicker now. “Sorry, I’ve been busy. And I spent the last few days at Lincoln’s. What are you doing here?”

“Cut the crap, Octavia. Why have you been avoiding me?”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Lincoln is Lexa’s cousin, Clarke. He asked me to come to the opening, and I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I went. I wasn’t going to try anything, but then he offered a sip of his latte, and you know how good music gives eargasms? That coffee gave me a mouthgasm. Honest to god. It’s so good, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, and-”

“This is good,” she said, but Octavia didn’t look at all reassured. Her voice spoke of murder. “If you’re going to be there, you might as well make yourself useful. You’ll be my double agent. Rate the drinks, get to know the workers, find their weaknesses.”

Octavia’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re talking about this like it’s a battle, Clarke. It’s only a coffee shop. You’ve still got the best food.”

“But I _did_ have the best coffee. This isn’t a battle. This is war.”

She rose from the couch and stalked to the door, resisting the urge to take the coffee cup on the counter and slam it into the wall. “Text me whenever you visit. I want a steady stream of updates while you’re there and I want pictures of all the employees pronto. I can’t go in, I’ll be recognized.” She paused when she stepped out, and peeked her head back through the door.

“Wait a second. Who is Lexa?”

 

** Day 15 **

That morning, Clarke woke before dawn for the first time since high school. Octavia had sent her ratings of all the coffee she’d tried, and Clarke winced with every 9 or 10 she saw. She’d gotten pictures of Anya (the girl Raven had bedded several nights before, apparently), Indra (who looked like she could kill a man with her pinky, and Clarke noted to keep her distance from her), and Gustus, who looked nearly as terrifying as Indra. Lexa - the owner, or so Lincoln said - kept to herself in the back, choosing to run behind the scenes most of the time. Octavia has only seen the back of her. She studied all the pictures and the descriptions of the drinks.

She spent hours trying new drinks, adding and subtracting ingredients until she found something that struck her palette. She added a few recipes to the menu as well, and placed a chalkboard sign out front. She knelt in front of it, adding a drawing of a coffee cup in the corner.

_Breakfast at Clarke Station: New Hours 8 am - 5 pm_

_Omelets, French Toast, Fritters, Cinnamon Rolls, and More!_

_Stop by the Station today!_

“I do believe Coffee Grinders is still open an hour earlier than your restaurant,” said a voice, and she startled, knocking the sign and herself to the hard ground. She scrambled back up, taking the offered hand before she’d even looked at the person. They helped pull her up, and she found herself inches from-

Well, damn.

Those were the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

A quick glance around her face led to a breathtaking picture - green eyes, cheekbones that shouldn’t be legal, brown hair that was pulled back in a way that brought out the soft lines of her jaw. Her eyebrows were thin and raised, and her lips, pink and bare and a little chapped-

Oh. They were pulled down in a frown.

She brought herself back to the present and took a step back, letting go of the woman’s hand. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t hear you walk up.” She stood up the sign and ran a hand through her hair to fix it. She was a mess. Of course, _of course_ she had to make a fool of herself in front of the most gorgeous girl she’d ever seen. “I planned on adding breakfast before the store ever entered the picture,” she lied smoothly. “Coffee Grinders is an annoyance, but it’s not any sort of competition. This business has been open for five years. That place began two weeks ago.”

The girl’s frown deepened. “Is that so.” Her voice was flat, unamused.

She smiled, trying to move on before she was offended her further. Clearly she was a customer. “I’m Clarke Griffin. Here, as a thank you.” She pulled a wrapped muffin out of the basket the chalk was in. It was still warm. “It’s one of my new creations. Cinnamon Swirl.”

The woman said nothing, but carefully unwrapped the muffin and took a small bite. She watched it crumble in her mouth, her tongue swiping out to catch a few pieces, and she thought she might have died just then. The brunette’s eyes fell closed for a moment, chewing slowly to take in the flavor. “Interesting,” she said, but said nothing more. She didn’t put away the muffin, though.

“Maybe you’d like to come in? We’re not open for another 20 minutes. I could cook you some breakfast? On me, of course.” She leaned in slightly as she spoke, regaining her confidence, and the woman’s face turned a lovely shade of pink for a brief moment.

“I think that would be rather inappropriate,” she stuttered out, closing up more and more with each passing second. “I must get back to work.”

She didn’t falter at the rebuttal, going for a gentle second try. “I can make a mean omelet in 5 minutes tops. You won’t regret it.” But the stranger was already shaking her head and stepping back, crossing her arms tight over her chest.

“I am flattered,” she said, and the last word came out like it was curse. “But I must say no. It was, ah, a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Griffin.”

Knowing when to call it quits - _and surely there would be another chance in the future, this wasn’t a large city after all_ \- she dipped her head and stepped back, closer to her cafe. “Great to meet you too.” She turned to the shop, then faltered and glanced back, watching her cross the empty road and speaking once she was safely on the other side. “Can I at least have your name?”

This, at least, pulled a smirk from her. “I suppose it would be rude to refuse. You did give me yours, after all. My name is Lexa. Lexa Woods.” She raised the muffin and dipped her head. “Thank you for the snack, Ms. Griffin. Perhaps I will return the favor with a cup of coffee sometime.” She ducked under the shade of her store’s archway and stepped in before she could try to find a reply, which was good - she would’ve been searching for an embarrassing amount of time.

“Lexa,” she repeated under her breath. “Of course. Fuck it all.”

She was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. This will likely be a 4 or 5 part series, nothing too big. Apologies for errors, as I am without a beta. I will update as often as school allows me. Let me know what you think and I hope you stick around for the ride!
> 
> You can watch my writing process at definitionofawriter.tumblr.com. I'm friendly!


	2. pushed to flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lexa thinks about the gorgeous blonde across the street, and Clarke plots the hot brunette's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took 500 years. I hope to be much quicker with the next update. Two words: AP classes. I don't think I need to say more. Enjoy the anarchy!

**Lexa POV**

**Day 18**

Lexa frowned as she watched people flow in and out of the store across the street. The breakfast idea had worked - many of her customers now dined there for breakfast, choosing to go for the healthier breakfast smoothies that she’d just come out with over what they’d been singing praises over a day before. A part of her didn’t understand…  
…until she remembered the muffin that had all but melted on her lips. Then she got it a little.

It was a rare moment when she saw the blonde, despite running business across the street from each other. Lexa was fairly certain that Clarke lived in the little apartment above the cafe. She saw her step up to the door to unlock it and turn on the open sign, and then do the opposite a little after 5 pm, but beyond that she was never around. She had to work there herself all day. It made watching her very hard to do.

Not that she had been watching, per say. Just… observing the competition. And admiring the competition’s face.

_Not appropriate._

She turned back to the counter and finished reorganizing the ingredients… for a fourth time. The workers were giving her weird looks but didn’t dare comment in front of customers. The door jingled, and in came the beautiful brunette… the one she saw in Clarke’s shop almost every day.

“I apologize, but we can no longer serve you,” she said smoothly, cutting in just before the girl tried to order. “You’re a friend of Clarke. You’re feeding her information, and I am afraid we don’t support cowardly deeds in this business. If she wants to find out about our coffee, she can come by herself. We would be honored to host the great Clarke Griffin at our lowly coffee shop.” As she spoke, she looked over the people present who were just as numerous in number as the crowd in Clarke Station, if not more so. The sarcasm was evident even though her voice was flat. “And be sure to pass along the message to the other girl. Raven, I think?”

Anya’s head shot up at that, and her eyes narrowed. “Raven has no part in the transfer of messages between Clarke and Octavia,” she said. “She’s told me about their little ploy. She refuses to support Clarke’s mission of destruction now that she and I are… friends.” Her lips curled upwards at that. “I would appreciate it if you exempted her from the punishment.”

Lexa glances between the two ladies. Anya had been a mentor to her, and close friend at that. Her request could not go ignored. “Octavia, please do not enter this shop again. And if any of the pictures of my workers go on social media, I will press charges.”  
Octavia stood there for a second, blinking in complete shock, before her face crumbled just a little. “Could I please have a Venti Mocha as a last hoo-rah?” she whispered, bottom lip pulled down with just the hint of a pout. “It’s my favorite.”

Anya was on it before Lexa could say no. She watched the transfer of coffee and money with her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed when Octavia’s face changed as she reached the door. A grin played on her lips, and she suddenly looked less like a whiny teenager and more like a serial killer with several murders on her belt. “You know, your coffee is fucking amazing,” she admitted, taking a small sip of her drink. “And that’s why I was only passing messages - I’m loyal to Clarke, but I really don’t want this place to shut down. But now? Now you will be nothing but a decimated building by spring. Watch your backs.” She gave them all the middle finger with her free hand, and she walked out, heading straight for Clarke’s cafe.

The inhabitants of the coffee shop were looking at her strangely, and she realized her mouth had fallen open at some point.

“That’s the girl Lincoln won’t shut up about?” Anya murmured, returning to wiping down the counter. “Well, I can’t blame him now.”

Neither could she.

 

**Clarke POV**  

Octavia came in with a crash and a look of righteous fury on her face, and Clarke hadn’t seen her this angry since she’d told her about Finn. “They kicked me out,” she half shouted in the middle of the restaurant, and Clarke hurried to her side, sending apologetic looks at the customers as she tugged her into the backroom. “All I wanted was to get good coffee and be a good friend, and they _kicked me out._ ” She stomped her foot against the tile. “And I hadn’t even tried their newest latte yet! I want my mouthgasms, dammit, and they’ve been snatched away!” Her arms were curled around her cup of coffee, which would apparently be her last. “I am so upset right now. I am actually so upset right now. Oh my god.”

“Breathe, Octavia. Maybe Raven can still bring you a cup or two. She has that thing going on with the chick who made her coffee anyway, right?”

The brunette wasn’t listening. She chugged half her latte with a terrifying speed, and she slammed it down on the table. “They’re going down.” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and she tugged off her jacket. “I’m going to kill them. What do you want me to do?”

“Octavia… I don’t think you should be going anywhere near that shop right now. Lincoln would never forgive you if you vandalized his cousin’s store or something equally horrible, as much as I would love to see that happen.” She pulled up a chair and forcibly sat her in it. “It’s just coffee, O.” She shot Clarke a fierce glare, and she let it go without reinforcing her opinion. “I’m sorry you got kicked out because of me. I should’ve known after I spoke to her that she’d get revenge.”

This managed to distract her somewhat, and her head shot up a little. “Wait, you met her? When?”

“3 days ago, a little before I opened. It was nothing,” she lied through her teeth. “We bantered about our different hours of operation, and I gave her a muffin to try before I realized who she was. She told me her name, and we parted ways.”

“Bullshit.” Octavia set down her coffee and crossed her arms. “If that’s what happened, I would’ve heard your rant two minutes after it happened. What are you leaving out?”

Clarke bit down hard on her lip. “Nothing.”

“Clarke-”

“Nothing.”

_“Clarke-”_

“I asked her out, okay?” she snapped, cheeks flaring in a furious red color. “I asked her out on a date before she told me her name. Twice. I made myself look like a fool in front of her, my _competition_ , because I saw a gorgeous girl and wanted to drag her to bed.”

The brunette’s anger dissolves, and suddenly she’s laughing, distress forgotten. “You asked her out? You asked your competition out- oh, I am never going to let this go-” She sees the lack of humor on Clarke’s face, deeper than simple annoyance, and she faltered slightly. “Hey, are you okay? Babe, sure, you asked out your competition. It’s embarrassing. But you shouldn’t take it so seriously.”

“This cafe means everything to me, O, and you know exactly why. If it closes down, I have nothing left,” she admitted quietly, spilling forth feelings she hadn’t realized she’d been bottling up. “Nothing left of him, you know? Other than my watch, and that’s just an item of his. This cafe is a representation of everything we built together. Lexa’s easy disregard of it touched nerves, and her presence alone hurts this business’ chances. So the fact that I humiliated myself in front of her so easily…” She exhaled. “I don’t know, O. I feel inferior.”

All traces of Octavia’s humor were gone, and she put a hand on her shoulder. “This cafe won’t close down. Your customer rate has dropped, but you’re still miles ahead of your rent. And as for Lexa…” Her lips twitched. “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

A pause.

Clarke’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Did you seriously just quote The Princess Diaries at me? Please tell me that’s not what I just heard.”

“That is a fuck awesome quote and you cannot deny its beauty, Clarke. Don’t knock Disney. And _especially_ don’t knock Julie Andrews.” She stood and pulled Clarke up with her.

“Let’s go, princess.”

She blinked, finding herself being pulled toward the front entrance. “Wait, what? Where are we going? I have a cafe to run, if you haven’t noticed-”

“Murphy can handle it for 10 minutes, can’t you Murphy?” The man in question muttered something under his breath that Clarke was sure she was lucky not to catch, but Octavia wasn’t deterred. “Yep, he’s a big boy. Thanks Murph!” They exited the cafe, and Clarke fought not to lose her scarf in the brisk wind. They crossed the near-empty street. This was the closest Clarke had ever gotten to Lexa’s shop. “Alright. Give me your magazine.”

As Octavia slyly peeked through the very edge of the _Coffee Grounders_ window, Clarke fumbled to get her _Modern Artists_ magazine out of her purse. “This is brand new, don’t you dare do anything with it,” she warned, knowing it was probably pointless. She handed it over anyway. “What the hell are you going to do anyway?”

Octavia let out a hiss of success. “Yes, they’re crammed right now. Even Lexa is out front. Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she said, never answering her question. She hurried around the side of the building, presumably heading for the back door.

Clarke had a feeling this was not going to end well.

  
**Lexa POV**

Lexa hated working in the front. She really, truly did.

She found that you didn’t know how weird people could be until you worked a job that dealt with customers face to face. She’d had a job at Starbucks for 3 years during college, and she’d hated every second of it. In between the population’s general weirdness and her own social awkwardness, she’d promised herself at 19 - the day she quit - that she would never, ever let herself get stuck in a 9 to 5 job again if it meant conversing with strangers.

That said, if there was a line nearly to the front door and her workers were up to their eyes in orders, she knew she had to make a few exceptions to her rule.

Thus-

“I need more cinnamon than that,” the customer said, watching her lower the cinnamon sprinkler after putting a _totally reasonable_ amount of it on the whip cream. She added more with a slight frown. “More. More. Just- here,” he said, grabbing it right out of her hand and dousing the whip cream until the white was nearly covered. She winced at the thought of drinking that - a perfectly good iced coffee gone to waste in a flood of cinnamon. It was a _topping_ , to be used _lightly-_

“Hey sexy thing. Mind putting your number on my order?” the next customer said, a man of maybe late 20’s or early 30’s. All the blood drained from her face, and she opened and closed her mouth as she struggled to find words.

Indra stepped in and saved her. “Back off or you’ll be calling an ambulance instead,” she growled, giving him a look so deadly that he took a step back.

That customer left empty handed, and she was glad to see him go.

“Thank you, Indra,” she said as she started working on her next order. Indra grunted in response. Her lips twitched, tempted to form a smile, and-

There was a crash from the back, and the bang of a door.

Indra was through the storage room door before anyone even moved. Lexa moved to follow, and Gustus took up the rear, all of them scrambling into the back room. The back door was open, and Indra was already outside, struggling to climb the fence surrounding the alley. Gustus followed, giving her support to get over, and Lexa peeked her head back into the storage area.

“Was anything stolen?” Gustus asked with a gruff, out of breath voice, joining her now that Indra was gone. Her eyes peeled the shelves to no avail. “I don’t see anything missing.”  
On the third sweep, she finally saw it. “Bottom shelf. The tarps, they’re gone.” They used them to cover the outside tables when it stormed… but she couldn’t see why anyone would steal that. The safe was just a shelf above. She breathed in, then paused. “Wait. Do you smell smoke?”

Gustus pointed above her, and she turned around, gaze flickering across the shelves until she spotted what he’d seen. Inside a glass, a magazine of some sort was on fire, and burning up rather quickly, sending smoke up to the…

The fire alarm blared suddenly above them.

“Shit,” Gustus swore, and the water sprinklers sprang to life.

She ran immediately to the front room, horrified at the thought of all her coffee making equipment going to waste. People were spilling out the front door as fast as possible, leaving overturned chairs and spilled coffees behind, but she was more focused on the counters.

Familiar blue tarps were stretched across the cash register and the various machines. The rain spilled over the tarps and onto the floor, but left the machines untouched. “What the bleeding hell is going on?” Gustus shouted from the back room, and Lexa didn’t have a single answer.

She happened to look out the front window, and among the crowd of panicking customers, a familiar head of blonde hair stood across the street, offering people napkins to dry their faces. Many takers headed inside _Clarke Station_ to dry off entirely. The blonde was looking pleased with herself. _Too pleased._

Resembling a drowned raccoon, Lexa stormed out the door and across the street. The crowd parted for her, not daring to risk turning the murderous glare on themselves. Clarke smirked at the sight of her and extended a napkin to her. “I didn’t take you for a wet t-shirt contest sort of girl, Lexa,” she snarked. “I do hope you have a change of clothes.”

The brunette’s glare surpassed Indra’s on its worst day. Several people backed away.

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, Ms. Griffin,” she hissed, “dig two graves.”

Clarke’s smirk didn’t falter. “The only grave here, _Ms. Woods_ , is yours. And I will nail your coffin shut if you don’t get the hell out of my city. This war is over.”

“You-” Of course it was now that her language failed her, and she stared at her opponent for a long, embarrassing moment. She spun around and stormed back to her soaked shop. Her hands shook with rage.

_I don’t think so. This war has only just begun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who are confused: Octavia broke into the back quietly, took the tarps, left purposely loud, circled around to the front and covered the machines while they were in the back, and left before the sprinklers came on. She wanted to cause commotion, but she didn't want to cost Lexa thousands of dollars. Instead they just have a very large clean up job to take care of. ;)
> 
> Enjoyed the chapter? Please leave a kudos and a comment! They make me write 600% faster, and I squeal every time I get one. Thanks so much for the support so far!


End file.
